Human and I were at dinner. As usual, we were the first ones to arrive at the restaurant. We're perpetually early in life. Despite sitting at a table that was in close proximity to other tables, we were able to chat about my anxiety as of late.

"I feel like I'm not contributing to life," I said. "The longer I stay out of the game, the more anxious I get."

The Husband looks at me with a hint of "you're crazy" in his eyes.

"You left your job just two weeks ago," he said. "In fact, you had consulting work lined up before the end of your last day! You're NOT out of the game. You've already started talking to recruiters! But you do NEED to take a break."

He was right. I haven't actually taken a break. Which was the whole point of leaving my job.

I fail at trying to take off time.

"Please don't be in a rush to find something new," The Husband pleaded. "The last thing you need is to take a job just to have one. Enjoy your time off, even if it lasts a long time. Just wait for the right one to come to you."

He's right. But not working goes against my instinct. I'm a workaholic. Always have been. Always early. Always working.